


Los Pájaros

by high_emerald_clouds



Series: It's Them [2]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Outdoor Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamory, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/high_emerald_clouds/pseuds/high_emerald_clouds
Summary: Imelda wants quails for dinner, so Ernesto and Héctor spend a morning hunting in the hills.They’re having a great time, until they run into the ants.





	Los Pájaros

**Author's Note:**

> Puro smut. That's all it is. And angry ants. Feels to come with the next, lengthier chapter.
> 
> Heed the rating--and the pairings, pay attention to those--and the tags, please and thank you.

“Are you going to miss us, _amor?_ ”

Imelda folds the ends of a cloth over a short stack of warm bread, stuffs it into the sack slung over Héctor’s shoulder, and snorts. “Oh _si_ , I am going to miss two _tontos_ who are going to be gone for a few hours. How will I survive, Héctor.”

Héctor turns and slips an arm around her waist. They are in their kitchen, and the faint light from the early morning sun filters in through the thin curtains of their windows. Héctor is dressed for a light trek through the hills around Santa Cecilia--a coat with material thick enough to fend off the sting of _espinas_ and bugs, well cared for boots, cloth tied around his neck, and a _sombrero_ waiting to be perched on his mess of hair to keep the worst of the sun from his face--and the sack over his shoulder holds a light meal for him and Ernesto. 

Pulled to his side, Imelda spreads her hands on his chest raises an eyebrow at his pout.

He leans down to kiss her brow, her cheek, and says against her lips, “Five hours away from you will be five hours of torture.”

“For me as well,” Imelda says, only half humoring him because she had wanted to spend the day with him, and pushes against his chest with one stern finger until he leans back. “But once Ernesto finds a good spot, I am sure you will forget all about me.”

“ _Never,_ ” Héctor says. His voice his so vehement, it sends a warmth through Imelda that makes her smile. “We’re always thinking of you.”

“Every inch of you,” comes Ernesto’s voice, and they both turn to see him walking in from the bedroom. He’s tugging his coat on, the material stretching over wide shoulders, and winks at Imelda.

Imelda rolls her eyes. It is Ernesto’s fault that they will both be gone for the day. Earlier, while Héctor had still been asleep between them in bed, Ernesto had asked Imelda why she was up so early. Pulling her hair into a tight bun, Imelda had answered that she was going to make an early trip to buy quails from Señora Ramirez for pozole that night, and Ernesto had immediately argued.

“You’re going to give that family money?” He’d asked, insulted gaze following Imelda around the room as she went to the vanity. “After their bull trampled your husband?”

“Her birds are the biggest,” was Imelda’s answer. “I thought of going to Señor García, but the last time I did, some _niño malcriado_ ,” she gave him a pointed look, “complained that they were too thin and dry.”

“Don’t go to either of them,” Ernesto had said. “Héctor and I will find you some quails. Better quails.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It will be easier to buy them.”

“And waste money?” Ernesto shook his head. “No. We’ll bring you your quials.”

Imelda had sighed and begun to pull her sleeping gown off. It had slipped from her shoulders and to her waist. Immediately, Ernesto’s eyes had fallen to her breasts, her dark nipples hard in the chill of the air. 

“ _Pues,_ if you insist,” she had said, and slipped the gown over the swell of her hips, desire building as Ernesto’s heated gaze took her in. “But I won’t be satisfied unless you bring me the plumpest birds, Ernesto.”

“You’ll be satisfied,” he had said, strong evidence of his arousal rising between his legs. “I always leave you satisfied.”

Later, as Ernesto fucked her next to Héctor, Héctor had waken up enough to watch, and she had told him around her gasps and moans of Ernesto’s promise to find birds for their dinner. With humor in his voice, he had gestured at Ernesto sucking and palming her breasts and commented that he’d found two plump birds already.

Later, Imelda had pumped his cock with her hands torturously slow in retaliation.

Not that he complained.

“I wish you could come with us,” Héctor says.

“I know, but I have too many things to do to go playing in the dirt,” Imelda says back. It would be a sight to see both her men covered in dirt and sweat, but she will have to wait till they return home to admire the view.

“Who’s playing?” Héctor says. His hand at her waist is inching lower. He pulls her closer and leans down to kiss her neck and murmur, “ _Tus amores_ are going to hunt wild beasts for you--”

“Tiny birds in the brush,” she says, and laughs when Héctor huffs, insulted, and pinches her bottom.

“ _Oye, cabron,_ ” Ernesto snaps, while Héctor kisses Imelda and smooths his hand along the curve of her hip. “We need to leave before it gets too hot.”

“He’s right,” Imelda says. As much as the residual desire from that morning would have her push him to his knees and feel him between her thighs, she would rather not spend the next day listening to the two men complaining about sunburns and exhaustion. “Go, _mi cazador valiente, y cuídate, por favor._ ”

“ _Te amo,_ ” Héctor says, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he begins to back away, and she answers, “ _Te amo, querido._ ”

The tender moment is broken by an annoyed huff from Ernesto. “ _Dios mio!_ Are you expecting to be gone for a month? The hills are a step away, _amigo._ ”

“I will write a song about this moment,” Héctor says, and Imelda knows he is dragging the moment out to pester his friend. “A _corrido_ about--”

“ _Por Dios, basta!_ ” Ernesto says, grabs Héctor’s shoulder, and pulls him into the November morning.

\---------------------

They have their birds before noon.

Héctor sets his bag of lunch down by a low tree, and stretches his arms over his head. The sun is still climbing towards its highest point in the sky, but the heat has already dissipated the cool air from the night. Though, he admits, it is nowhere near as hot as a summer day, he is still sweating.

He removes his hat to swipe at the sweat on his brow. Beside him, Ernesto dumps the bag of birds by the base of the tree, sets down the gun he’d inherited from a father he barely knew, and begins to remove his jacket. They’d collected four birds that are plump enough that Imelda will be grudgingly happy with them. Héctor can already see the praise in her brown eyes and not for the first nor last time, Héctor is happy that he can provide for her and give her what she desires. 

The low tree they’ve chosen to rest under provides just enough shade from the sun, and down the slope from where they stand the river flows passively by. They are little under an hour away from home, and they will need to return with enough time for Imelda to pluck and clean the birds for dinner. Héctor will help if she will let him. He knows Ernesto will return to his own home to rest until the dinner is ready.

Imelda’s brothers are, once again, gone for the day, off visiting their Tío Enrique to ride his horses and collect sweet mangos from his small orchard. When they are gone, Ernesto spends more time at the Rivera household, arriving and leaving late at night and in the earliest hours of the morning when the chances of being seen are few. It has been weeks since his last chance to sleep in the same bed as Imelda and Héctor, and he has been insatiable. 

Héctor does not mind. He has enough energy to keep up with his friend and wife. He has to. Being between them is like being between two forces of nature, especially when they enact some silent agreement to wring as much pleasure out of him until he’s breathless and close to losing his mind. 

They’d left him winded the night before, but it was nothing compared to the months that he’d been stretched between them as they fought. 

Setting his hat by the bag of birds, he throws off his jacket and begins to unbutton his shirt, trying to turn his thoughts away from those turbulent months. With the heat of the sun beating down on him since the morning, the river water looks inviting, sparkling under the daylight. The water is surely too cold for a dip in November, but it will at least be good enough to wash away the sweat and dirt that clung to his skin.

“Going down to the river?” He asks Ernesto, but his friend is settling down by the tree trunk, pulling his own hat low over his eyes.

Ernesto waves a dismissive hand at him, and Héctor shrugs. Their trek had been pleasant but tiring, and they’d seen no one nearby since they left the village. They’d spent much of their walk ribbing each other and singing their favorite songs. Héctor wished he had brought his guitar with him, but the chances of damaging the wedding gift was too high. 

He hangs the shirt over a low branch and heads down to the river. He kneels on the bank, listens to the sounds of the water flowing, and dips his open hands below the surface. It is indeed too cold to jump in--he does not like to think of the threat of pneumonia again, not when he’d been so close to it last time--and he hisses when he splashes his chest with it. Gritting his teeth, he tugs his handkerchief loose from his neck, and dips it in the water to wash his face.

Again his thoughts turn to Imelda. When they had been younger, they had been just married, they had walked along the river hand in hand, away from prying eyes. They had laughed and talked about whatever came to mind, excited about the years they would have together, oblivious to the rift that would open and close between them and Ernesto. 

Héctor rubs the cloth over his face, and a rogue thought slips to the forefront of his mind: of Imelda on the edge of the river, pulling off her blouse and skirt and undergarments, her dark eyes intent on his face as she slowly steps into the water. He can imagine her standing waist deep, the curve of her rear just visible above the water’s surface, her breasts wet and her long hair curling as it falls over her bare shoulders, and she’s laughing as he splashes in after her--

Héctor cups his hands, gathers what cold water he can, and splashes it in his face. He can’t think of her now, out on a hunt! With a deep breath, he splashes himself again, tries to ignore the twitch of interest between his legs.

Maybe a dip in the river would do him some good, after all.

He shakes his head, the flush in his cheeks still burning, and begins to scrub at his arms and chest with the cloth. The sweat washes away, he doesn’t stink so badly, and he stands to arch his back and stretch. He can hear bones pop and feels a good burn of the stretch, but breeze blows and leaves him shivering briefly. 

When he turns, he catches sight of Ernesto, sitting up by the tree, watching him intently, one hand lazily palming at a bulge in his pants.

“ _En serio?_ " Héctor calls, laughing when Ernesto shrugs one shoulder. 

He should have known. Hiking back up the slope, he gestures sharpy at his friend, who’s gaze is wandering up and down Héctor’s bare chest. “Are you crazy? What if someone sees, _pendejo?_ ”

“ _Cálmate,_ we’re the only _pendejos_ out here right now,” Ernesto says back. “My friend, you haven’t sucked me off in days.”

“And I’m not doing it out here!” Héctor says. He pulls his shirt on, but waits to button it as he settles in next to Ernesto. It’s not as if the desire isn’t there. He’d already been close as he imagined Imelda nude in the water, and the thought of Ernesto’s cock filling his mouth is bringing him back to the edge. But his friend is just as sweaty and dirty as he as at this point, and he does not want his strong sense of smell anywhere near Ernesto’s groin. “What’s wrong with you that you can’t wait till we get home?”

“You can’t tell me you can look at this--” Ernesto sweeps his hand over the tent in his trousers and cocks an eyebrow. “And not be horribly tempted. How can you wait?”

“With the way you sweat?” Héctor shrugs. “I can wait.”

“Fine,” Ernesto huffs, “I’ll take care of myself then. And to think, after all I’ve done for you.” He pauses, his hand pressing hard against himself, and says, “Leave your shirt open.”

Héctor snorts but leaves it open, more than a little proud of what the sight of his bare chest does to his friend. Of course he will never have to same influence that his wife’s breasts do, but he gets by well enough. 

With his wife on his mind again, and Ernesto quickly undoing the ties of his dusty trousers, Héctor can’t help but think of Imelda’s naked body. She’s so beautiful, his wife, smarter than he and Ernesto combined, as tough as a tree against a storm, and he’s still at a lost to what she sees in him. Ernesto, at least, has been close to him since they were children, but Imelda he has only known for a few years. He is fortunate to have either of them, he thinks, and so luck to have them both that it is almost too good to be true.

He bites his lip as he thinks of the night before, when he’d kneeled between his wife’s legs to finger her slowly at her command and watch her writhe. Ernesto had sat in the chair nearby, fisting his cock as Imelda swept her hand through Héctor’s hair to pull him down to mouth at her breasts. And when he’d pressed into her, feeling her warmth around him, she’d dug her nails into his shoulders while Ernesto came up from behind, a bottle of precious oil ready in his hands.

Ernesto is not a quiet man, and he’d talked Héctor’s ears off as he fucked him ruthlessly. In the present Héctor's arousal is building at his memories, can not help but look over at the sounds of his friend jerking off. Ernesto’s dark eyes are on him. He can feel desire stirring, his cock rising, and he aches to have Ernesto's hands on him. As if Ernesto can read his mind, the man smirks.

“What are you thinking of, _amigo?_ " Ernesto asks, as innocently as you like with his hand down his pants, and Héctor presses his lips together. 

“ _Ay, carajo,_ ” Héctor groans. He begins to untie his own trousers and rolls his eyes at Ernesto’s laughter. “ _Cabron._ ”

They need to move fast, which Héctor knows is no problem for his friend. They haven’t run into anyone out on their trek, but Héctor is well aware that when something can go wrong, it will. 

He’s ready to jerk himself off to the sight of his friend doing the same. But Ernesto moves over, until he’s pressing Héctor back against the wide tree trunk, and presses his lips to Héctor’s neck.

“For once,” he says, as Héctor’s breath quickens, “Show me that you can keep your mouth shut.”

“ _Pinche cabron,_ ,” Héctor says, freeing his cock to the chill air. Shivering, he grips himself, feels Ernesto suck briefly at his neck. “ _You’re_ the one who can’t shut up--”

“You’re already losing, _pendejo,_ ” Ernesto laughs against him before leaning back and looking down at Héctor’s hand. “Let me.”

Héctor gasps when Ernesto reaches into his pants, and releases his cock to let Ernesto grip it in his wide hands. Licking his lips, he reaches to grab Ernesto in return, runs his thumb over the leaking tip, and lets his friend kiss him deep as Ernesto’s hand begins to move swiftly around him.

Ernesto is unrelentless, and Héctor whimpers before biting his tongue and trying to match Ernesto’s speed. He shuts his eyes, aware of Ernesto’s gaze intense on his face, and twitches when he feels Ernesto’s free hand rub hard against his bare chest.

“I’ll have you again in your home,” Ernesto says, his voice low against Héctor’s ear, and Héctor breathes out harshly to keep himself from moaning. “And then I’ll watch you eat your wife out. Would you like that, _hermoso?_ I know how you love to taste her. Or should I tie you down--” Héctor whimpers under his breath, his movements erratic on Ernesto’s cock, enraptured by the feel of his friend thick and heavy in his hand and the promises whispered into his ear, “--and let her have her way with you? I won’t let you come until morning, do you understand?”

 _Si,_ Héctor almost says and gasps. He is very interested in Ernesto’s plans. He can already feel the burn of the rope around his wrists, Imelda’s warm weight atop him, Ernesto’s thick fingers pressing into him. 

He breathes through clenched teeth and squeezes Ernesto’s cock instead of speaking. Ernesto’s grunts, and he pauses his hand on Héctor’s cock to finger the head. Héctor cants his hips up, a breathless plea on his tongue, before Ernesto chuckles and begins to slide his hand again.

“But today you must come _now_ ,” Ernesto says. “If someone were to walk by, what would they say if they found you giving yourself to me so freely, hm? That’s it, _amigo,_ come for me--”

Héctor is barely aware of the pain when his head _thumps_ back against the tree trunk. He can’t help the halted cry that escapes when he releases, and Ernesto is saying something that he can’t be bothered to understand. He’s gasping, let’s his head fall forward, and feels Ernesto replace his hand on his cock with his own until Ernesto’s curses under his breath and his come splatters over Héctor’s twitching abdomen. Still gasping, falling from his dizzying high, Héctor rests his shaking hand on his chest, and turns a lazy glare on Ernesto. His friend's face is flushed, his pupils still blow as he watches Héctor sagging against the tree. When Ernesto catches his gaze, he winks, and Héctor rolls his eyes

“ _Chingados,_ ” he groans, as Ernesto shuffles to sit next to him against the tree. “We’re going to have to use the river water to clean this off. It’s cold, Ernesto.”

Ernesto chuckles and pats Héctor’s thigh, voice tired. “You really can’t stay quiet for long.”

Again Héctor rolls his eyes and rests his head back against the tree. They’ll have to rinse in a hurry before heading off, and they didn’t even get to eat lunch.

He’s on the verge of complaining when he feel Ernesto pinch his ass hard. With a gasp, he elbows Ernesto in the side. “Hey! _Basta!_ No more, we need to get clean!”

But Ernesto is looking at him as if he’s grown five extra eyes. His hands are resting on his knees, nowhere near Héctor’s vulnerable ass. 

“What are you talking about?”

Héctor frowns. “I felt--”

Another pinch, and another, and they’re burning now, and suddenly Ernesto is yelping and jumping to his feet, and Héctor can see a dozen red ants crawling over his rumpled shirt.

Another bite on his rump and Héctor is scrambling to his feet, slapping his trousers at the army of ants crawling up his legs. But the slapping only aggravates the demons further and soon the bites are happening from his ankles up his thighs and he’s cursing as he scrambles to jerk his trousers down.

“In the water!” Ernesto snaps, slapping at his own trousers, and still cursing Héctor follows his friend down the slope and to the cool water.

But before he can jump in, Héctor trips over his pants around his ankles and falls to the side, but one foot decides to rebel and twists to the other side, and a new pain shoots up Héctor’s leg.

He curses and rises onto his elbows. His boots are still on, his pants bundled around his ankles, and he struggles to pull them off. A burning pain throbs around his left foot. It does not feel broken, but Héctor has no time to wonder just how sprained it is, because the ants have no mercy for an injured man. He stands, ignores the burn, and stumbles into the river with a splash, and Ernesto runs in after him. Immediately, the biting stops but the itching begins, and when Héctor raises his head above the surface of the water he can see big red ants float to the surface and are carried away.

“ _Demonios!_ ” He gasps, shaking his fists at the red dots in the water. “You’re taking bits of my flesh with you, are you? I hope you enjoyed _Sabor de Héctor,_ because it’s your last meal!”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Ernesto growls at him, scratching at his bare hips. 

Héctor narrows his eyes and begins to scratch at his itchy legs, shivering in the water. “Someone’s hand was on my cock.” Ernesto scoffs and Héctor continues, “We had the birds. If we had just left and you had been _patient--ay, carajo! Los pájaros!_ ”

Ernesto just watches as Héctor stumbles out of the water. Héctor ignores Ernesto’s confused “Why are you walking like that?” and goes past his pants and boots, up the slope, and comes to a skidding stop by the tree.

Lines of ants march up the gun and converge, quite viciously, on the seperate bags food and dead birds.

With a curse, he steps around the ants that are still crawling in masse from the base of the tree, and grabs the bag of birds up to shake it furiously. Ants go flying, but he is sure a number have already stolen inside to get to the perfect plump pheasants.

Ernesto comes up behind him, and Héctor turns a glare on him.

“I’m telling Imelda _you_ did this,” Héctor says, and limps back down to the river to clean the birds off in the water.

He can hear Ernesto groan, because Imelda will not be happy.


End file.
